Accipere Et Nisi Te
by Little-Retard
Summary: Harry is breaking under the pain he is in, and all the lies around him he can see for all they are worth. Inside is something that can help him, but he has to accept it... ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**I know I promised the sequel to 'Blind Pain', but I'll do that later, I promise, I've been practically dying to get this one out of me. I freaking love this pairing. I don't know how often updates will be…**

**I don't own Harry Potter or anything that is in connection with Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. Those rights are copyrighted with J. K. Rowling. *Sobs* As much as I wish I did...**

**Warning: Self mutilation, attempted suicide, alcohol, yaoi/slash, Marcus/Harry**

* * *

><p>'<em>Jump, jump, jump,'<em> No matter what he did, the words echoed throughout his head. They were his savior. They were everything and all he had to look forward to. That's what he cared to live for. His knowledge of future death by his own hands was the only reason he was here today. Suicide was his knight in shining fucking armor, as odd as it sounded.

'_Cut, cut, cut,'_ Sweet words that were easily obtained. They were sweet lies that he took in with ease_. They were such lies._ He knew they were lies. He knew it would be so easy. His skin was oh-so-soft, and the razor was so sharp, especially after he sharpened it… Oh, yes, it was so easy to cut through… _'Cut.'_ No on would notice until the early morning light peaked over the castle tops, and even then his blood would be splattered like a beautiful blossom, marking it to be too late. _It was always too late, it had always been too late for him. Did no one realize that? They should've, the_ _fucking_ _**idiots!**_

One small, pale hand loosely grasped a steel bar that jutted out so harshly from the cold Astronomy Tower. How would it feel to be impaled on that pole? He would never know. He was more the jumping type or poison or overdose. _There are so many choices_. Which one is your fate? Legs and feet covered by black cotton and leather were swung over the side. He sat there, cold wind wiping away the salty teardrops that came from a pained past while no one else did. Broken, chartreuse irises stared upon the Quidditch pitch where he had spent numerous hours training. _Wasted time._ It was all a waste!

Would anyone care? _'Cut.'_ Would anyone care that Harry was dead? '_Cut.'_ No, they would only see their Golden Boy dead, killed himself because he was so fucking selfish. _**'Why do you cry, young one?**_**'** No one cared. _'So just jump!'_ No one ever did, no one ever will. _**'Your tears are wasted on those who do not deserve them, you know.'**_ Why would anyone care about someone who didn't deserve anyone else's tears?

'_Cut, cut, cut,'_ His inside mantra continued to repeat itself inside his selfish head and he looked down at the steel, shiny razor in his tiny hands. Messy, black hair obstructed his vision, and as he flipped his hair out of his eyes, his glasses tilted. He gently took them off, throwing them as hard as he could at the wall, reveling in the sound of glass shattering. Right now the cold steel was clean, but in a few moments…

'_Jump,'_ He didn't even try to block out the resounding voices in his head, instead welcoming them with open arms. They didn't care. _'Cut.'_ No, but at least they would be there no matter what. He couldn't tell anyone about them. They were his little secret. But he loved them so much. Next to his thoughts—his cutting and pain—this is all he had. They were all he knew, _**'and you don't even know what I am.'**_

A soft sigh left his perfectly full cherry lips. A single tear fell down his perfectly angelic face, and he began to roll up his black sleeves, preparing for his happiness. _'Don't cry. Cut, jump, _**scream**_.'_

'_**Why do you argue with those of which you cannot see? Why do you listen to them?** **It is fruitless, you know, as nothing will ever change. Did you wake up one morning, and realize your someone your not? Do you wish to escape from the reality which is not reality? This reality is filled with lies and fraud. To conquer this world is to become the king of the liars. Can you detach your emotions from your mind? Or will you go insane in the process? You ask yourself, what is real, and what it lies. To conquer this world is to be able to tell reality from lies. There is no in between in this monstrosity. There is no, 'maybe'.'**_

Was he going insane? Possibly. Yet, if anyone really feared that he would ever go insane, they would check on him. No one did. There was not a single word of, 'are you okay?' No, never did anyone want him. Never. _Never_! No one cared, no one loved, no one sobbed. Fake smiles, fake tears, fake world, fake, _fake_, _fake_. _'CUT!'_

And so he cut.

The sharp razor reflected in the moonlight. _Slash_. A deep cut jagged across his wrist with crimson tears crying from it. He smiled softly and traded hands, making a deep jagged gash across his other vein. _Slash_. Crimson flowed as a waterfall down his arms, spreading on his clothing. The pain wasn't as much as he would've liked, and he didn't like that… No, he needed more. _'More!'_

His cutting became frantic now as he sobbed, blood pouring everywhere. He wasn't even looking where was cutting, as long as it hit him. _Slash, slash, slash, slash, sob, slash, slash, sob, sob, slash, slash, slash. _Crimson blossomed beautifully everywhere, spreading like an infectious disease. Waterfalls and blossoms, tears and ribbons, streams of crimson bled onto the floor, crossing his pale flesh and dribbling on the floor, rolling across it and dripping off the ledge.

The pain was excruciating, and he was falling deeper into the well of agony and misery, but he kept on cutting. He kept on sobbing, crying, but never saying a word, tears running like streams down his face, but still he wasn't crying from the pain of the cuts. No, he would never cry from the cuts… They were his savior, his one and only truth in a world of lies.

The pain of abandonment. The pain of neglect. The pain of abuse. The pain of no one giving two shits whether you live or die. The pain of knowing that people only want you for something that's not you. Something that you have no control whatsoever over… If you had nothing to live for… How long would it take you to be pushed to the edge? _How long would it take you to jump?_

The let go of the razor, and it made a clatter as it fell to the floor in the puddle of red misery, its blood stained blade seeming to smirk at him in satisfaction. It's job has been finished, and with time to spare. All the knowledge seems to override you… You'd go insane, wouldn't you, with no one there with you to hold you, to smile at you? _**'Can you look at yourself now?'**_

His obsidian hair fell into despair- filled emerald irises. He wrapped his arms around himself, the sting of the cuts along his arms not bothering him in the slightest as he sobbed his heart out to the high heavens. '_**Years of fourteen seemed to have been enough to drive this child over the edge. Not all of us get a better chance. There was so much that could've been done to prevent this…'**_

Memories of past abuse reflected in his wide- eyed gaze. Memories of burns, cuts, neglect… Memories of the only family he had… Memories of all his "friends" ran through his eyes, and he could still feel the sting of their words… Memories of teachers who seemed to favorite him, but never had time for what he needed… Memories of him cutting…

It wasn't supposed to be this way… Why did no one pay attention? One glance, they could've seen the pain. One true glance. There are those who see it. They choose to not see it. They don't want to see it, and they live in a world of lies and make-believe, and pretend that everything is alright, and maybe that's okay for them, but to Harry, lying is just as bad as being the best friend of misery.

'_You're not what we want.' What did you want?_

'_I really hate you, you know that?' I know, I'm sorry._

'_Good work, James!' I'm not my dad, I'm sorry._

'_You're… not as good as James.' I'm sorry._

'_Sorry, but I don't have time.' When will you ever have time?_

'_Maybe later.' Later never came. _

'_Just like your father!' I'm sorry._

'_You're a little shit…' I'm sorry._

'_You shouldn't be alive.' I know, I'm sorry._

'_Go away!' I will, I'm sorry._

'_Some other time.' When is that other time?_

'_No, Harry.' I'm sorry._

'_This is what you wanted.' No, it wasn't, but I'm sorry, I'll take it anyway. _

'_Is this what you wanted, Harry?' No, I'm sorry._

'_You suck!' I know, I'm sorry._

'_Get the grease, Petunia!' I'm sorry._

'_Ha ha, look at the little boy, running from his fate.' I'm sorry._

'_I hate you so fucking much.' I know, I'm sorry._

'_I wish you were dead.' I do, too._

'_Do the world a favor, and jump off a fucking bridge. We'd be a whole lot happier.' Will the Astronomy Tower work? I'm sorry, but once I jump, I hope you'll be happier._

"**Jump." **_I will._

And he jumped.

"_**Can you take the knowledge of knowing truth from lies? Or will it drive you to the ledge? I am taking over now, child. I will help you through this."**_

* * *

><p><strong>First chapter, *does something weird* DONE. Any questions, ask away, please review.<strong>

**OOH THANK YOU FOR READING! Review for sooner updates~!**

**Oh, yes, just because I know someone out there in fanfiction will ask the question. **

**"What does the title mean?"**

**It's latin for "Take over to save you."**


	2. Chapter 2

White. All he could see was white. Bright. Burning. It came to him in a flash. The pain was excruciating, and he groaned, curling up onto his side in a fetal position. Tears slipping down his face as he realized the inevitable.

He had failed.

The one thing he was so certain he _couldn't_ fail at. It was a curse. Guess he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived for nothing. His fate was horrific, how could this have happened?! There was no way that he could have survived a fall like that There was only one explanation.

Someone had saved him. But... _who_?

"Oh, you're awake."

Looking up sharply, Harry's eyes traveled across the room to lock on the nurse, Poppy Pomfrey, who was levitating a tray of food behind her, quickly followed by the resident Potion's Master, Severus Snape. His piercing black gaze settled upon him, staring into what seemed to be his soul. He blocked his mind, putting up a shield so he couldn't see into his mind.

Stopping in front of him, the two wizards continued to stare at the hero, trying to decipher the puzzle that had been placed in front of them. Finally, Harry cleared his throat, waking them from their thoughts.

"Is there something you need?" The boy asked softly, staring up with large, beryl eyes. Poppy sighed, setting the plate of food down next to the suicidal boy, and replied, "Harry, Professor Snape here is the suicide prevention counselor. Because of what you did, the Headmaster has ordered you to talk with him at least twice a week about what you did, and why it was wrong, and why you should sorry for what you did. You know, many people depend on you. What you did was _very_ selfish, and the Headmaster thinks you should learn that was very wrong what you did. You also have detention with Professor Snape everyday for three months, starting the day you get out of the hospital wing. Now, here's your food, and I'll leave for you to talk to Professor Snape. Think about what you did, Harry."

As she left, she stared at Harry with disapproving eyes, obviously ashamed and disappointed of what he did. With wide eyes and a gaping mouth, Harry watched her leave._ 'Seriously?'_ Harry thought, '_They're mad at me?!'_

With eyes like burning coals, Snape clenched his fists, attempting to hold in his anger._ 'Honestly, the people at this school are some of the most ignorant, idiotic people I've ever had the misfortune of meeting! Talking like that to a suicidal child, what is wrong with you people!'_ Calming down enough to talk to Harry, Snape sat down next to him, staring him in the eyes.

"Harry, I know we normally don't get along, but I'd like you to know that I'm here for you. I am not disappointed or ashamed that you did this. This was a perfectly natural response, and you were not wrong. I do not hate you for this. I am not mad at you for doing this. Twice a week, you will come to talk to me about whatever you like. You can come talk to me more if you like, it's completely up to you. I will also have some of my Slytherins help you out, and they will help you with whatever you need. Hopefully, you will make some _real_ friends. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one," Harry murmured quietly, turning his lime green eyes to the ceiling.

"And what might that be?"

"Who saved me?"

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the wait, but yes, here's another installment. It's not very long, and Marcus is not here yet, I'm sorry, but he'll be here next chapter. Take a wild guess at who saved Harry. I'm pretty sure it's obvious.<strong>

**I do not own Harry Potter.**


End file.
